


Sentenced to Write

by Llama1412



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Ghosts, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Theft, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: A collection of fics from 1 sentence prompts.Chapter One: Thief!CiriChapter Two: Kid!Calanthe
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Thief!Ciri

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: "There it was, balanced precariously on its stand, what [s]he had been looking for this whole time."  
> Which I never managed to work into the fill, but shhhh

The thing is, Ciri had been raised with expensive tastes. She was a Princess for the first 13 years of her life, and she’d had every luxury she could dream of.

Then the war happened, and suddenly Ciri had nothing. She was hungry and cold and miserable and she never wanted to be like that ever again.

So she decided not to be. It wasn’t easy – she was clumsy at first, almost got caught a few too many times. But now she had fur-lined gloves that the finely-dressed lady at the market probably wouldn’t miss, and real actual quality soap that she’d lifted from one of the sellers.

The problem was, Ciri wanted more. She wanted the kind of life that had been taken from her, with luxuries at her fingertips. If she could have that, maybe she could believe that the world was worth living in. Ciri breathed in the lavender incense that the merchant who had run into her shoulder was now missing. It reminded her of home, reminded her of those days when Eist had an awful pain in his head and couldn’t stand light. Her grandmother would close all the curtains, send the servants and guards away, and light the lavender to help Eist relax.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that she was back there, sitting quietly in her grandparents’ room, working on her crocheting while her grandmother sat next to Eist on the bed and stroked his hair.

Ciri’s fists flexed and she wished she still had her crochet supplies. The worst part about being on the run, after the constant fear, was the absolute  _ boredom.  _ There was nothing to  _ do _ when you were escaping an army.

So when Ciri saw them, balanced precariously against each other, she knew she needed them. 

She had just arrived in a new town and she was casing the market for anything she could filch. She had actually been looking at the stall next to the real prize at first. But when she’d turned and seen the ornate silver crochet hooks with inlaid gems – Ciri needed them. 

It was stupid, something that valuable would be noticed missing immediately. 

But Ciri had been getting better at this. She distracted the merchant with conversation, gossip about the war – which was also great for keeping ahead of Nilfgaard – and waited until a large group of people passed by. Then, she positioned herself into their path and one of them to bump into her. She let herself fall into the table with a short cry, and while the merchant scolded the group for hitting her, Ciri slipped the needles quickly into her sleeves. Since she’d jostled the table, it wasn’t noticeable at first glance, and Ciri hoped she could be far away before it became a problem. 

The keys to a good steal, Ciri had learned, were distraction and alibi. Ciri had accomplished the distraction. Now, her alibi – she joined the merchant in frowning at the group of men that had been shamed into apologizing to her. Once they left, she turned to the merchant and purchased a small skein of yarn. By the time Ciri left, the merchant was just starting to tidy up his stall, starting over by the yarn section she’d browsed.

Now, when the merchant noticed the hooks were missing, he was most likely to blame the men who had run into her. After all, if  _ she _ had stolen them, she wouldn’t have stuck around and bought something else, would she?

Ciri fingered the silver crochet needles hidden up her sleeve and smirked. She was getting pretty good at stealing.


	2. Kid!Calanthe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: “Swordfighting is a totally valid form of art, thank you very much.”  
> Calanthe argues with her father over her swordfighting training.

“Calanthe,” her father scolded her, “when I told you to find an art teacher, I did not mean ‘go bother the knight commander during training’.” King Dagorad placed his hands on his hips and frowned down at her.

Nine year old Calanthe stared back with a stubborn look on her face. “Swordfighting  _ is  _ an art! You’ve even said that before!”

Her father rubbed his forehead, jostling his crown. He was always complaining about how heavy the thing was, but Calanthe privately thought that he just didn’t know how to hold it. The crown would never sit too heavy upon her own head. She was more than ready to be Queen.

And she would be Warrior Queen, dammit. “If you try to stop me from training,” Calanthe threatened, “I’ll just sneak out to do it.” From the defeated look on her father’s face, he knew it was true. “Besides, what would I even do with art? Unless you can paint with your sword.” She tapped her finger to her lip, half-ignoring her father now. “Actually, that would be cool. Paint a mural with the blood of your enemies. We should do that,” she grinned.

King Dagorad sighed deeply and pat her on the head. “Maybe later, Calanthe. Maybe later.”


	3. Like Father, Like Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri cooks up a prank that bears a surprising resemblance to a prank Geralt pulled in his own childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "They stared in shock, as it finally stopped rolling and slowly came to a rest at their feet"

The disaster started simply. Ciri and her friend Lena simply wanted a snack. Since the kitchens always had a little something set to the side for hungry workers, sneaking in seemed like a great idea. It was even good practice for their super secret spy training. Ciri’s grandmother didn’t think they were taking the spy training seriously, but she was wrong. Ciri took it  _ very _ seriously.

That’s why they had to do this properly.

“The kitchens are always busy,” Ciri was pacing the floor of her quarters while Lena sat on her bed. “We’ll need a distraction.”

Lena nodded seriously. “Something that will keep the kitchen staff busy, but won’t cause get us in trouble.”

Ciri hummed, thinking of what tools they could use around the kitchen. “The vegetable garden has beehives.”

“We are  _ not _ releasing bees,” Lena vetoed.

“No no, we only need one.” Ciri turned to her friend, a slightly manic look in her eyes. She had an  _ idea.  _ “We have those giant forest bumblebees in the garden. We just need one of those, and a jar.”

Lena gave her a dubious look, but she didn’t have any better ideas, so they set off for the vegetable garden.

Sneaking past the few servants along the way, Ciri peaked around the entrance to the garden and tiptoed in. The beehives were along the stone walls, and the one Ciri was interested in was a large, complicated honeycomb helix that took up a full corner. When she had called these bees giant, she hadn’t been kidding. They were about the side of a small rodent, and their stingers were correspondingly large. They hurt something awful, but only for a little while. 

It was perfect. Everyone would avoid the risk of getting stung and the bee would clear out the kitchen! Ciri grinned at Lena, who gave her a thumbs up. Ciri donned the beekeeping mask and gloves that were stored next to the hives and coaxed a singular huge forest bumblebee into her hands. She gripped it carefully, and took the twine Lena held out – which was attached to a small glass jar – and wrapped it around the bee’s body. The bee should still be able to fly, but everywhere it went, the jar would knock into things and cause a mess.

Ciri and Lena snuck to the kitchen’s back door – which also happened to be the door nearest the pastries – with their unwitting accomplice in hand. Lena carefully opened the door just a smidge and Ciri released the bee, sending it flying inside the kitchen.

Screeches, bangs, and yelling followed and the two girls tried to silence their giggles as they waited for the noise to move away. Then they pushed the door open and gathered as many pastries as they could fit in their pockets and arms – and one or two stuffed into their mouths, cheeks bulging – before they made their escape.

At first, everything seemed to have gone to plan. The bee cleared out the kitchen, they got their snacks, it was all good! Only they’d forgotten that the bee would need to be  _ caught _ again.

That realization came upon them as they were rushing down the corridor to Ciri’s rooms, giggling around mouthfuls of dough. They turned a corner and nearly ran face first into the bee, falling back with startled cries. Their hardwon pastries scattered across the floor, and Lena ducked behind Ciri. 

“What do we do?” She whispered when it became clear they would not be able to get to Ciri’s rooms without passing the irritated bee. 

“Um…” Ciri desperately tried to think of another brilliant plan, and the bee buzzed angrily, the jar it was attached to clinking against the wall. 

Suddenly, the bee flew straight at her, and Ciri ducked down with a holler, just barely dodging a jar to the eye. The two girls cowered on the floor for only a moment before hopping up to see where the bee had gone when they heard a loud  _ clang  _ and then the  _ tink tink tink _ of hardened glass rolling across stone. They stared in shock as the jar that had been attached to the bee rolled slowly came to a stop at their feet.

“I assume you have a very good explanation for this,” the Queen’s voice rang out and Ciri flinched. Of all the people to have caught them, why did it have to be her grandmother? If it had been her grandfather, they might have been able to get away with it.

Queen Calanthe, still clad in battle armor and with a red smear on her cheek stared down at them. “Well?”

––

Years later, long after her grandparents and Lena and everyone else she had known were long dead, Ciri sat around a table in Kaer Morhen, laughing and joking with the Witchers that had raised her.

“Did we ever tell you,” Eskel began, ale sloshing out of his cup as he waved it. “About the time Geralt and I played the  _ best _ prank ever?”

Ciri shook her head, eager to hear stories of Geralt’s youth.

“So, we found this bee, right? One of those huge forest bumblebees, the size of a small cat! We tied it to a little jar so that it was trailing along behind it, right, and set it loose in Kaer Morhen!” Eskel broke off into drunken laughter and next to him, Geralt was shaking his head with a fond grin on his face.

“No way,” Ciri said. “Me and Lena did the same thing! I mean, it was as a distraction, and grandmother caught us, but! We used a forest bumblebee too! And a glass jar!” She started giggling as the absurdity of them sharing childhood pranks overtook her.

“Like father, like daughter.” Vesemir said gruffly. “And these two most certainly got caught as well.”

“Worth it,” Geralt rumbled and the whole table broke into laughter again. The white-haired witcher smiled softly down at his child surprise and Ciri grinned back. Like father, like daughter indeed. 


	4. Yennskier First Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is summoned to Aedirn's court after _Toss a Coin_ gains fame. There, he meets the Mage Yennefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt “People either fall for me or try to kill me. Little did I know that today, it would be both.”
> 
> The prompt led to me practicing first person POV!

People either fall for me or try to kill me. Little did I know that today, it would be both.

It started simply. Being the most incredible and talented bard on the continent, I was summoned to play before the entire Aedirnian court.

Okay, so actually, I’m just barely getting started as a bard, but my latest song was an absolute hit! Maybe you’ve heard it? _Toss a coin to your Witcher, O Valley of Plentyyyyy~_

Yeah, well, apparently someone in Aedirn is a _big_ fan of it, because an invite like this? BIG deal. Like, make or break your entire future deal.

But, you know, no big deal. I was totally gonna kill it.

Then Yennefer of Vengerberg happened.

So, turned out, she was the one who invited me. Only she was _not_ a fan. Very emphatically not.

“So, you wrote the song.” The absolutely gorgeous King’s Mage, Yennefer of Vengerberg said to me. “The annoying ear worm full of bad puns that butchers good poetry, and is slanderous moreover.”

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Not the most witty reparté, perhaps, but I was in absolute shock! I mean, the sheer nerve!

“Your song is a lie.”

The mage narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. If I had understood then how terrifying she is, I might not have responded by flapping a dismissive hand in her face.

“No no, not that. _Bad_ poetry? How dare you!”

Yennefer of Vengerberg is not one to be dismissed. And also, apparently, studied a lot of poetry. And unlike me, she must have stayed awake during the lectures. 

“Your lyrics may make a catchy tune, but they certainly can’t be called  _ poetry.  _ Not with such,” she sneered down at me, even though I am definitely taller than her! “Amateur mistakes.”

Well, I obviously couldn’t stand for that! I was top of my class at Oxenfurt University, thank you very much! And, okay yes, I might have spent more time flirting than studying, but I’m just naturally gifted! Besides, who cares about technique when people loved it?

  
“Your rhymes are forced and sloppy,” Yennefer ticked items off on her fingers as she spoke. “There’s no consistent meter, your puns are horrific, ‘elves on the shelf’ makes no sense, and oh,  _ it’s all a lie! _

Now, I just want to make it clear, I was not speechless. The fact that I could only sputter and make wounded noises does not mean that she was right. She is definitely a liar.

My puns are fantastic.

“I don’t know who this Witcher you followed is or why he’s okay with the tale of him slaughtering elves, but I will make it clear _now._ You will not sing that song again unless it is accompanied by the truth.” And before I could do anything, she touched my forehead and uttered a spell!

The fucking mage cursed me! Over a fucking song!

“Don’t you think this might be a bit of an overreaction? It’s just a silly song.”

Yennefer loomed over me, even though, again, she is definitely shorter than me! How does she do it?

“I could incinerate you with my pinkie. _That_ would be an overreaction. This? This is justice.” Then she turned, tossing her hair over her shoulder and sending the scent of lilac flitting under Jaskier’s nose. And then she just fucking left, as if I could be dismissed that easily!

Well, just for that, I wanted to sing her off with a round of _Toss a Coin._ Except I couldn’t. I opened my mouth and tried to sing it, and I _couldn’t!_

To say I freaked out is an understatement. My voice is my moneymaker! What use is a bard that can’t sing? 

I decided to try a different song. _“Need old Nan the Hag, to stir up a potion, so that your lady may get an abortioooooo~n”_

Okay, maybe it’s not my best work ever, but the point is, I could sing it! She only cursed me not to sing my _best song!_ The song that made me famous! I can’t just not sing it! No one liked my other songs!

I may have stared after her as she walked away – and _wow_ – and when I shook myself out of it, she was gone.

Well, from what I’d seen of Yennefer, she was not one to be swayed by pleading. Which meant I needed to figure out how to break a curse without her.

Great.

––

Trying to break the curse did not go well. For one thing, Yennefer heard about it and just recast it _even stronger._ Now it hurts if I try to sing the song.

You’d think that would stop me from trying. But I’m a bard – my voice is my life! I will not accept being smothered!

If curse breaking wouldn’t work, then I would just have to win Yennefer over.

––

Since Yennefer had criticized my poetry, I decided the best plan was to wow her with some _true_ poetry. Some good poetry.

Given her reactions to my first attempts, It’s possible I should have paid more attention in class. How was I supposed to know it would ever be applicable again? 

I coasted through University without a sweat, but I never actually _paid attention._ If I made it to lecture, I was usually hungover or already drunk, honestly. 

Ah, Uni. Good times.

Anyway, the point was, I needed to study. I needed to figure out how to write good poetry. Good thing Aedirn had a library.

—

The day I finally won over Yennefer of Vengerberg is one that should be recorded in the annals of history. It came after months of serenades and threats and studying.

I will admit that perhaps her pushing me to study had improved my craft. Even I could tell the difference, and I always think I sound good. 

Because I do. 

Anyway, in honor of the unwitting help the terrifying Yennefer of Vengerberg had given me – and mostly to convince her to lift the curse – I wrote her a song and performed it at the King’s banquet. 

To say I was terrified would be too simple. My hands were sweating, my heart beating fast, my muscles twitching and my breath coming too quick – that is the effect Yennefer has on mere mortal men. 

I think she likes it like that. 

I’m hoping this will be audacious enough that she likes it too. If not, she might actually incinerate me. Though, honestly, there are worse ways to go.

She sat at the head table, on the King’s left when I approached her to sing. 

_My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;_

_Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;_

_If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;_

_If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head._

I kept my eyes locked on Yennefer while I sang, hoping she understood. The song sounded lovely on the surface, but any who paid attention to the lyrics would hear the insult.

_I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,_

_But no such roses see I in her cheeks;_

_And in some perfumes is there more delight_

_Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks._

I hope it’s not such an insult that it’s my last one. But I spent a long time drafting this song, just in case. After all, if this is how I die, it must be _spectacular._

_I love to hear her speak, yet well I know_

_That music hath a far more pleasing sound;_

_I grant I never saw a goddess go;_

_My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:_

I bowed my head to Yennefer as I sang the final verse. It was, in its own way, a concession to her power. 

_And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare_

_As any she belied with false compare._

She truly is terrifying and I never want to be on her bad side again. And yet, there is a certain charm to her. The determination with which she demands the truth be told, the cruel ease with which she stole my voice, the fierce dare in those violent eyes when I raised my head – altogether, it’s somehow incredible enticing. 

I have the full attention of the most beautiful woman in the room. That’s no small thing.

Finally, Yennefer reacted. She smirked and I can breathe again. “Surely you can do better than that, Bard.”

And oh, it is _on!_

There is anger in my voice when I start the next song.

_Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate:_

She frowned and I threw a wink her way, just to piss her off.

_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_

_And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:_

_Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,_

_And often is her gold complexion dimm’d;_

_And every fair from fair sometime declines,_

_By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;_

A wry smile pulled at my lips. Even if she softened her opinion of me, the attentions of a being like her could only ever be fleeting.

But oh how glorious they could be. As soon as she lifts the curse!

Finally, with all the venom I could muster, hoping she would understand the truth underneath.

_But thy eternal summer shall not fade_

_Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;_

_Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in her shade,_

_When in eternal lines to time thou growest:_

_So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,_

_So long lives this, and this gives life to thee._

From her frown, I think she got it. Oh, the lyrics were nice enough this time – declaring that unlike a summer’s day, her beauty shall never fade – but delivery was everything. She is unchanging, unaging. Any time with her would be fleeting by its very nature – what was a mere human to a mage who could live for hundreds of years?

And yet, I could write her a song that kept her memory alive far longer than that. I could make her live for eternity.

I finally understand why _Toss a Coin_ bothered her so much. Reports of anti-Elven sentiment are on the rise and some point to the alleged Elven incursion in Posada as evidence that we must strike first.

I never wanted that. I just wanted to impress a gorgeous and noble man, and maybe make him famous. Even I didn’t anticipate how much the song would blow up.

But I get it now. Nothing exists in a vacuum. Songs have the ability to affect public opinion, and I have to think about that if I want to change the world with my songs.

Isn’t that an idea? Literally _change the world._ With _music._

I never dreamed this big before Yennefer. Just another reason to like her.

“Well?” I asked her.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile pulling at her lips. She snapped her fingers and it felt like a static shock. Just to test it, I hummed the chorus of _Toss a Coin_ – and it worked!

“A wonderful performance!” King Virfuril proclaimed and I bowed deeply. The praise from a king brought a bright smile to my face, and I bowed off the stage.

As the feast continued, I kept an eye on Yennefer. When she finally rose from the table, I asked for a dance. By which I mean I bowed with a flourish and extended my hand to her. Nobles nearby chortled, but he could hear the slight huff of Yennefer’s amusement and that was all that mattered.

“You’re very strange,” Yennefer said. “And very annoying. Yet somehow charming? I dislike it.”

“Why thank you.” When she placed her hand in mine, I brought it to my lips with a wink and kissed the back of it. She arched her eyebrow at me.

I led her onto the dancefloor and held her a respectable distance apart. Not at all because I’m scared of her, mind. Well, I am, but it’s also because I’m trying to be proper.

It’s fucking hard, and reminds me of why I chose life on the road over a cushy court assignment.

“Can you conjure a bottle of wine?” I asked.

“Why?”

“We could go somewhere more private.” I suggested. “There’s actually one more song I wrote for you. But it’s just for you.”

Yennefer’s head tilted with interest, and she looped her arm through mine, gesturing for me to lead.

I steered her out of the main hall and into an alcove in a corridor I’d scoped out. 

She turned to me with her eyebrow raised and I licked my lips before singing.

_I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,_

_or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:_

My breath hitched on the next verse, fear tensing my shoulders.

_I love you as one loves certain obscure things,_

_secretly, between the shadow and the soul._

When she didn’t immediately incinerate me, I continued with growing confidence.

_I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries_

_the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,_

_and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose_

_from the earth lives dimly in my body._

I met her eyes and finished.

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,_

_I love you directly without problems or pride:_

_I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,_

_except in this form in which I am not nor are you,_

_so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,_

_so close that your eyes close with my dreams._

I let the last note linger and bowed my head to her, awaiting judgement. If she accepted my feelings, accepted what I wanted to give – or if she did not.

“You must know I cannot love you like that.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to accept my love.” My palms were sweaty and I wiped them on my trousers before taking up my lute again.

_Being your slave, what should I do but tend_

_Upon the hours and times of your desire?_

Yennefer blinked and a pleased smile pulled at her lips.

_I have no precious time at all to spend,_

_Nor services to do, till you require._

_Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour_

_Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you._

_Nor think the bitterness of absence sour_

_When you have bid your servant once adieu;_

She gave me a dubious look at “servant” and I grinned and bowed my head. Hey, at least I’m learning?

_Nor dare I question with my jealous thought_

_Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,_

_But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,_

_Save, where you are how happy you make those._

I walked forward until I could kneel before her, strumming very softly at my lute.

_So true a fool is love that in your will_

_Though you do anything, he thinks no ill._

Yennefer smirked. “Well, at least you know your place.” She looked me over. “But I suppose I am not opposed to you convincing me you are worth my time.”

I grinned. “Good. Because I intend to blow your mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me just skipping over the relationship development lol
> 
> Poems used:  
> Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun – William Shakespeare  
> Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? – William Shakespeare  
> One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII – Pablo Neruda  
> Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend – William Shakespeare


	5. Ciri makes an "imaginary" friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri meets a young boy while exploring Kaer Morhen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "A child’s imaginary friend needs to convince the child they're real so they don’t disappear.", which oops, I strayed from a lot.

“Hi.” 

Ciri startled as a young boy with brown hair appeared in front of her. Literally appeared – she was quite certain the corridor had been empty just moments before. Cautiously, she inched closer to the boy and looked him over. He seemed normal and just as real as Ciri.

“Hello?” She said uncertainly.

“I’m Milon. What’s your name?”

She hesitated for a moment, but Kaer Morhen was supposed to be safe from Nilfgaard. There was no reason to hide. “Ciri.”

“Do you want to explore? There’s lots of cool hiding places here!”

Since exploring was how Ciri had ended up here in the first place, she was definitely game. But, “where did you come from?”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean? Same as everyone else!”

Ciri frowned. That was wholly unhelpful. “There shouldn’t be anyone else here. Geralt said the other Witchers wouldn’t be arriving for another few days.”

“Geralt? Oh, I know Geralt!” Milon bounced on his toes. “We can go find him, if you want. Are you new here? Geralt is good with the new kids. Some of the others don’t like him because everyone knows he’s been selected for extra mutations, but he helped me when I first came here. He was nice, and he showed me how to sneak into the kitchens!”

Ciri smiled. “He is nice. I don’t know him well, but I guess this is my home now, so…” She bit her lip and looked down at her feet. “I wish I could go back to my real home. But it’s gone.”

Her shoulder felt little colder than normal when Milon put his hand on it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I miss my old home too.”

Ciri blinked rapidly, forcing herself not to cry. “You mentioned exploring?” Her smile was a little watery still, but she was more than ready for a distraction.

“Yeah! Follow me!” Laughing, Milon ran ahead of her, then turned back and waved. “Come on!”

Ciri followed, focusing her mind on the mystery that was Kaer Morhen instead of her thoughts of Cintra.

––

“What did you do today?” Jaskier asked her when they settled down for dinner. Ciri had tried to invite Milon, but he said he had to go back to his room before they could get punished. She still wasn’t sure who he thought would punish them – Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer were the only other people in Kaer Morhen right now.

“I made a friend!” Ciri grinned. “His name is Milon, and we went exploring around the castle.” When Geralt jerked towards her, Ciri sighed. “Don’t worry, we stayed away from all the areas you said were unstable and off limits! Even though Milon said there was cool stuff in the West Tower.”

Geralt swallowed with a click. “Milon?”

“Yeah!” Ciri nodded enthusiastically, taking a bite of her dinner and ignoring Jaskier’s disgusted face when she spoke around her food. “He said he knew you, actually. Said you were good with the new kids, whatever that means.”

Geralt’s face went pale and he gripped the table with white fingers. “New kid  _ witchers.”  _ He got out. “But Milon died.”

Ciri shook her head. “Well, my Milon isn’t dead! He’s as normal as any of you! And if he was dead, how could I have touched him and played with him?”

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t know. Wraiths are pretty recognizable, but…” He grit is teeth, “Milon didn’t survive the trials, Ciri. I was  _ there.”  _ Jaskier and Yennefer both put their hands on Geralt’s shoulders, and he relaxed back into them. 

“Well, I haven’t sensed any magic, but it can’t hurt to look,” Yennefer said. “If your friend is the same boy…”

Ciri shook her head. “But he wasn’t a ghost! He was real, he was  _ solid.”  _

“Then let’s find out what’s going on.” Yennefer’s face was fierce, protective of Geralt as he curled in on himself. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”


End file.
